


Have a Biscuit, Potter

by bluehat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Injury, Order of the Phoenix AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 14:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehat/pseuds/bluehat
Summary: A responsible adult finds out about Umbridge’s torture methods and takes action. AU in OOTP.





	Have a Biscuit, Potter

Harry wandered back from Umbridge’s office at almost midnight once again. As he walked quietly from hallway to hallway, he watched portraits slumbering as he passed. His footsteps echoed through the empty halls of Hogwarts, with only a few flickering lanterns lighting his way. He hadn’t brought the map to watch out for Filch, but he didn’t think he could get in trouble for being out this late if he had been with a teacher. Then again, he wouldn’t put it past Umbridge to give him another week of punishments anyway.

He winced, feeling a spike in the continuous pain from his hand. He had taken the long way up to the Gryffindor common room in an attempt to ensure that Ron and Hermione had gone to bed before he got there—he couldn’t quite explain it, but he didn’t want them to know about these punishments. This was between him and Umbridge, and he wasn’t going to let that horrible bat of a woman win.

Harry paused for a moment next to an empty portrait. The fat pony in the background told him that it belonged to Sir Cadogan, the idiot knight who occasionally showed up to irritate him, but its occupant was nowhere to be found. 

This had made him pause due to a sudden flash of memory—he was thinking about when Sir Cadogan had replaced the Fat Lady during third year, when everyone had thought Sirius was trying to kill him. Sirius. He missed Sirius more than he had expected this year. Usually, his longing to spend more time with his godfather was drowned out by the excitement of the school year, but so far this year, everything was as terrible as he had ever known it to be. 

He wanted to go back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, in spite of the house’s frankly creepy atmosphere, for this summer he had finally been able to spend some real time with the man who was as close to a father to him as he was ever likely to have. Even though everything had been awful with the dementors, he’d had the vague hope that if he was expelled, he could see Sirius all the time. 

_Sirius would understand what I’m thinking about Umbridge,_ he thought to himself. _He wouldn’t want me to tell anyone the way Ron and Hermione would. It’s just a stupid power play. I can take it. I’ve had worse, they just don’t understand. They didn’t go to the graveyard._

__

__

_Umbridge isn’t real evil. She’s pretty bad, but I’ve seen real evil._

His silent thoughts, standing alone in the hall staring at a knight-less portrait, were interrupted by a dripping noise. He looked down and saw that blood was gushing through the scarf he had tied around his hand once again, the cloth already bloodied from previous nights’ excursions. A small pool of blood had formed beneath his hand as his mind had wandered. He looked at his bound hand in disgust. A few more nights of this and there wouldn’t be any flesh on the back of his hand left!

“Potter! What on earth are you doing wandering the school at so late an hour?”

Harry jumped at the voice coming from the end of the hallway and shoved his hand into his pocket. It was Professor McGonagall, wearing a long, heavy emerald dressing gown and lighting her path with a candlestick. She seemed to have been concluding her rounds of the school, heading back to—wherever the teachers slept. Harry realized he’d never wondered about that, and then realized that he should probably keep his mind on the present moment.

“Just—just heading back from my detention, Professor.” 

He walked towards her a little bit to distance himself from the small area of blood on the ground. The last thing he needed was for her to see it. She would be needlessly upset on his behalf, and then he would wind up being responsible for McGonagall being sacked. That was the last thing they needed—Hermione would kill him if he accidentally removed one of the most competent teachers during their O.W.L. year, for a start. 

She looked down her nose at him and sniffed sharply, nostrils flaring. “Hmph. My esteemed colleague seems to have no regard for the hours of this school’s operation, to start with. Get to bed, Potter, and I shall be having words with Professor Dumbledore about this. She simply cannot have students wandering off to bed in the middle of the night without the supervision of a teacher.”

“Come off it, Professor! It’s no trouble,” he said desperately, thinking of Umbridge’s satisfaction at having a reason to get McGonagall in trouble.

“Do not speak to me in such a tone, Potter. That woman needs to respect the time-honored traditions of this school, and not in just such a way as suits her needs.” McGonagall walked towards him as she spoke firmly.

“But she’s the High Inquisitor!”

“And I have taught at this school for thirty-nine years this December, as I have told her. If Dolores wishes to make an enemy of me, I think I shall prove more formidable than she might expect.”

“But—but—it’s such a little thing. No one cares about kids going to bed after hours… It’s not by any means the worst thing she’s doing. Don’t get yourself into trouble over this, Professor.”

She looked at him, eyes softening slightly. “Don’t worry about me, Potter. I can quite adequately handle myself around that woman, and I intend to report every problem with her that I can find to Professor Dumbledore, no matter how trivial. Right now, the wizarding world may be against this school, but when the tide turns, I will ensure she is rightfully punished for her actions. Now, get along to bed, Pott—” She stopped suddenly, eye seemingly caught by something.

“What is it, Professor?”

McGonagall knelt on the ground next to him, examining something. Too late, Harry realized that the blood from his hand had managed to drip through his trousers as he had stood talking to her, and was forming a second tiny puddle. The Transfiguration professor scanned the hallway and sighted the second pool suddenly. 

“What in the world…?” she murmured. “Have you seen anyone else walking around this evening? I believe this to be blood, and I’m worried someone may be injured.”

“N-no…” he muttered. Her razor-sharp gaze fastened on him instantly.

“Out with it. What have you done?”

“Nothing!” he said, angry and defensive.

“Empty your pockets,” she said suspiciously, apparently suspecting him of some prank.

“For what, Professor? I didn’t put fake blood on the floor, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I would hope not, Potter, but you are obviously hiding something and I do not intend to allow you to return to your common room until you reveal to me exactly what that is.” Perhaps noting the fearful glint in his eyes, she continued. “You can trust me, Potter. I am on your side.”

Realizing there was no getting out of it, Harry slowly extracted his bound hand from within his pocket. When she saw it, her eyes widened and she sucked in a quick breath. 

“What is that? What happened?!” she exclaimed worriedly. “What were you doing this time? My goodness, boy, why didn’t you go to the Hospital Wing?”

He didn’t answer and she took his injured hand gingerly in her own, and unwrapped the soaked scarf. She looked at his unblemished palm hesitantly, and then turned the hand over. Even covered in blood, the words “I must not tell lies” were visible torn into his skin. She dropped his hand suddenly as she gasped and her hands flew to her lips.

“Hospital wing. Come with me, come now, Harry.” She grabbed the forearm of his uninjured arm and pulled him gently behind her. He had yet to speak a word, stunned by the true concern in her eyes. They quickly reached the vaulted hall that contained the hospital, and saw Madam Pomfrey’s silhouette tending to a student behind a curtain.

“Poppy!” called Professor McGonagall, voice slightly shriller than usual. 

Madam Pomfrey finished dishing out whatever potion she had made and exited the curtained-off bed. “Yes, Minerva! Oh, goodness Potter, what have you done now?” Her exasperated look fell away to one of horror when she glimpsed his hand and the murderous look on Professor McGonagall’s face. “What happened?”

“Dolores Umbridge seems to have no sense of where detentions end and—and where torture begins,” Professor McGonagall said finally, her voice wavering slightly. 

Harry laughed slightly. “Oh, come on Professor, it’s not torture. I could handle it. I was doing fine…” He trailed off at the look on both of the women’s faces.

“She’s been doing this for how long, exactly?” said Madam Pomfrey.

“Only about a week and a half. Look, I don’t want this to be a big deal. She wants me to react, so I can’t! You understand, Professor, you didn’t want me to respond to my anger!” he said pleadingly to Professor McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall stiffened, a terribly sad look on her face. “I did not want you to suffer unduly at her hands, Harry. I see that I have already failed that particular endeavor.”

Madam Pomfrey sniffed. “This is not what detentions should be, Potter, and it is not how teachers should behave.”

“I know that!” said Harry, getting slightly angry. “I know! I know she’s a horrible toad of a woman, but I can handle it! I faced Voldemort—oh, sorry—” Madam Pomfrey had flinched at the name, and Professor McGonagall had grown slightly paler, “so I’ve dealt with a lot worse than her. I’m not getting anyone sacked because I can’t handle a bit of pain. I can! So just don’t worry about it.”

Professor McGonagall’s nostrils were thinner than he had ever seen them. He had always thought that she was not a woman to cross, and this face of pure rage confirmed those suspicions. “This is more than a bit of pain, Harry. This is torture, and I will not allow anyone to torture my students while I am at this school. If anything is to happen to me because I took action in this matter, I shall welcome it, for it would be far superior than having to live with myself if I did nothing.”

Harry fell silent, shocked by her response. He had been stubbornly refusing to refer to what Umbridge was doing as torture in his own mind, but hearing it over and over again from Professor McGonagall was making it more difficult.

A few moments later, Madam Pomfrey had patched up his hand to the best of her ability, cleaning the blood and slightly improving the look of the marked words. “How was she… doing this?” she asked hesitantly. “These are not normal cuts. They’re not responding to my healing spells in the usual way…”

Harry spoke softly, mind reeling from these sudden events. “Um…she had a black quill. I don’t know what it is, but when you write lines, it writes with your blood and takes it from the back of your hand, I guess…”

The two women, who he had thought could not get any stiffer, both stiffened. “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” murmured Professor McGonagall. “How positively medieval. Come, Harry, let’s go see Professor Dumbledore.”

“No!” Harry jerked back from her. “I—I don’t want to bother him. He’s got so much to worry about than me—no, come on Professor…” As he had spoken, she had almost rolled her eyes at him.

“Harry, I’m beginning to think you need to grow a slight sense of the importance of your pain. Professor Dumbledore absolutely will not consider this matter below him. If you were to go to him because you found Arithmancy too difficult, he would not consider that below him, believe me.” She took his arm again and led him behind her, tugging him slightly when he resisted a little. 

It took him a few minutes to wind up the courage to speak again, but as they rounded the corner to Dumbledore’s office and he saw the stone gargoyles, his panic rose against his unwillingness to speak. 

“Professor!” he said suddenly, coming to a halt.

“What is it now?” she said, slightly exasperatedly.

“I—I really don’t want to go to Professor Dumbledore with this.”

She paused, looking him in the eyes. Her gaze became as soft as he had ever seen it. “Harry, you’ve had a long night. Why don’t I escort you back to Gryffindor Common Room, and we can go see Professor Dumbledore tomorrow. I’m sure you’re very tired and it will seem like the good idea that it is in the morning.”

Although it was not perfect, Harry acknowledged that this was as good of a deal as he was going to get out of her. “Um…okay.”

The two of them walked silently until they finally reached the Fat Lady, who was slumbering peacefully. Professor McGonagall spoke softly to him, so as not to wake her. “Harry, I can see that you don’t understand why this is such an important issue to me. I will not attempt to explain it at the present moment, but know this: I will not allow that woman to hurt you again. Good night.”

And with that, she turned and left, dressing gown swishing behind her. Harry stared after her for a moment, and then turned to wake the Fat Lady and enter his common room. What a strange night. Before he entered the room, he tucked his hand back into his pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this or leave it as is. I might want to have Harry tell some other characters, like Dumbledore and Sirius (and his friends), and maybe have Umbridge get a little premature punishment--what do you guys think?
> 
> This is my first time writing for Harry Potter, which is my first and greatest love. I was re-reading OOTP and wishing that Harry had ever told any adult about Umbridge so I wrote this.


End file.
